


A Brief Biochemical Treatise on Why Time Lords Make Terrible Ex-Lovers

by Anonymous



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Biology, Break Up, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Gallifreyan Biology (Doctor Who), I Guess You Could Call This a Master's Thesis, Monologue, Neurology & Neuroscience, Obsession, Other, Past The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), References to Addiction, Sex, Sex Addiction, Sexual Content, The Master Has Issues, The Only Time in His Entire Life That Jack Harkness Would Rather Not Talk About Sex, Time Lord Biology (Doctor Who), Time Lord Physiology (Doctor Who), Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, What Happens When a Liberal Arts Major Tries to Write About Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22945093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which the Master attempts to explain why sex between Time Lords is an awesome idea but only succeeds in making it sound like an absolutely terrible idea.Luckily for him, he's got a captive audience.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 125
Collections: Anonymous





	A Brief Biochemical Treatise on Why Time Lords Make Terrible Ex-Lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【授权翻译】关于时间领主为什么会是糟糕前任的一份生物化学简论](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23093722) by [walitny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walitny/pseuds/walitny)



> This fic is tagged with the Simm!Master as the narrator, but really any regeneration of the Master could have delivered this monologue, so feel free to substitute your preferred one. :D

As told by “M” _(Species: Time Lord; Age: Uncertain; Gender: Complicated)_ to “J.H.” _(Species: Human; Condition: Captive; Disposition: Increasingly Irritated)_

* * *

_“It’s like you’re obsessed with the Doctor.”_

Of course it looks like an obsession. It _is_ an obsession. It’s _supposed_ to be an obsession.

Regeneration changes things. Not just your physical form: it changes your mind, your personality, your way of relating with the world… it’s like becoming an entirely different person, only they have all your memories. You look back on the things you did and sometimes you understand why you acted that way, and sometimes you have _no idea._

As you might expect, it makes maintaining a relationship a little challenging, especially if you’re not regenerating at the same time. Having to jump back into the dating pool every time you change gets a bit tiresome after a while, so there’s a little evolutionary quirk that Time Lords developed over millions of years.

Yes, _obviously_ it’s related to sex. Did you really think it would be something else?

You poor humans, you’ve got so little time—present company excluded, of course—so I suppose it’s not surprising that your sex is brief and rushed. Compared to us, even your most extended sessions are the equivalent of a quickie in a parked car. Yet one more way you’re so bloody tragic.

Your little obsession with “staying power”? Well, you’re not wrong to want that.

Of course I’m bragging. That’s the inevitable response to any conversation with you.

We can go for hours—even days, if we hydrate and take our vitamins and limber up first. A binary vascular system has its advantages, after all. Time stretches out, every moment a pure wave of pleasure, orgasm after orgasm until you forget your own name—it’s the most intense high you’ll ever experience.

And the whole time, hormones and neurotransmitters are pumping through your system. For hours. For _days._ It even persists after you’re done, leaving you chock full of all those little chemicals that induce euphoria and safety and bonding.

It’s the last one that’s important.

You don’t understand. Why would you?

The closest thing you humans have to it is oxytocin. Heard of it? It's a hormone that facilitates trust and attachment, increases social bonds—basically, it helps the other person seem a little more tolerable. The “cuddle chemical,” as some twee idiots dubbed it.

Like everything else about you humans, it pales in comparison to Time Lord biology. 

Because with that level of intensity over that length of time, eventually you get hooked on it. You can’t get enough of that person—or people—and the incredible way that they make you feel. 

There are some fun side effects: telepathy becomes significantly easier, for example. You can jump in and out of one another’s thoughts like they were your own, adding one more layer to what is already an obscene amount of intimacy.

It overrides any other priority you had. All you want is them. It’s not even reliant on sex once the neural pathways get established: just being around them is enough to get the chemicals flowing. _Looking_ at them gets you high.

Can you imagine what that does to a person? Do you even have the capacity to imagine what that feels like?

It’s not _love._ Don’t be ridiculous. It’s… what’s the word? Ah, I remember it now: _limerence._

You don’t know what that means, do you? You don’t even know your own language. That’s just depressing.

 _Limerence:_ an involuntary state of intense romantic desire. Obsessive thoughts. Vivid fantasies. Every emotion, good or bad, burns like fire under your skin at the possibility of them reciprocating or rejecting you.

You’d die for them. You’d kill for them. Your whole universe is just you, together, against everyone else.

Then imagine them feeling the same way about you. 

_That’s_ how Time Lords can sustain attraction and romantic bonds across regenerations. Even with a complete physical change, those neural pathways somehow persist and they take ages to fade—centuries if it’s ingrained deeply enough.

Most people don’t establish those kinds of bonds. It’s not necessary anyway: there are other ways to reproduce, and plenty of Time Lords are asexual. Others are more than willing to remain celibate, because the alternative is far too risky. They find other ways to bond with one another: they put in the work, they communicate, and they’re gentle with one another’s hearts.

The poor saps.

For us, sex is like willingly acquiring an addiction. You either have to be very certain about what you’re getting yourself into, or insanely reckless.

Guess which one the Doctor is?

(You can probably guess which one I am as well.)

Why else would the Doctor be so desperate for companions? Why else would he be so violently protective of them?

He’s chasing a high. 

To him, humans are like methadone: it doesn’t have the same intensity, but it stops the cravings for a little while.

No, he doesn’t need to have sex with you for that. Not that I’d put it past him, but it’s too short to have the effect that it has with other Time Lords. Like I said before: a quickie in a parked car doesn’t exactly fire up the hormones.

As you might expect, we don’t handle breakups well. Even if the emotion is gone, even if you hate one another, you’re still left craving them.

I’m sure you can guess what happened between the Doctor and me. Unlike him, though, I’m not willing to settle for a cheap imitation. Give me the pure uncut stuff or nothing at all.

Murder is a good distraction, of course.

Oh _relax,_ you’ll be fine. More or less.

But maybe you’re thinking: this is all nonsense. Biological technobabble. None of it makes a lick of sense.

Perhaps it doesn’t. Perhaps I made the whole thing up just to mess with you. A little dirty talk to pass the time. You’re well aware that I lie about everything. How would you know if I was telling the truth about this?

Would you ask the Doctor yourself? Can you imagine the look on his face if this was just a trick I played on you? I’d love to see that.

Of course, wouldn’t it be even funnier if I _was_ telling the truth?

Let’s pretend that I did, shall we?

Thousands of years and it still burns inside of me: that vicious hunger. It’s hell. I want him dead, but I can’t help but hold back. The carnage gets his attention at least. Gives me a little bit of a shiver—probably gives him a jolt too. It’s not enough, not _nearly_ enough, but it’s better than nothing. Better than slumming it with one of you _flies._

I know what you’re thinking: why wouldn’t I try to move on? Kick the habit? Find someone else, perhaps? 

Because that would be admitting defeat. And I’d rather be miserable than lose—especially to the Doctor.

So I’ll settle for making him just as miserable as I am.


End file.
